Hey, Chicago area peeps! Did you know that we have, in our little old suburb of Wheaton, Illinois, one of the largest repositories of C.S. Lewis stuff in the world? It’s at the Wade Center on the campus of Wheaton College (corner of Washington St. and Lincoln Av. in Wheaton). This fall they are having a Saturday morning book discussion on The Letters of C.S. Lewis. Starts Sat. Sep 9 and goes through Sat. Nov 18. It’s FREE! Email the Wade Center at wade@wheaton.edu or call 630.752.5908 to RSVP.

I am an independent author of fiction and non-fiction, and I found this book extremely helpful in learning how to find balance. Chapter 3 (“Reduce Overload”) was the most practical and actionable section for me. In this chapter, Mark encourages you to organize all your various tasks into four types: 1: ongoing work (repeating stuff and stuff you do every day. Admin-type stuff usually ends up in this category), 2: special events (one-time things that need a lot of preparation ahead of time), 3: backlogs (stuff you’re behind on), and 4: asset creation (the creative work — stuff that stays done).

I would venture to guess that many creatives are overloaded with 1 and 2 stuff, frustrated that the amount of 3 stuff keeps increasing, and even more frustrated that hardly any 4 stuff is getting done. That’s definitely where I was when I read the book, and Mark’s advice on this helped me a lot!

Mostly, I had fun reading these books. They’re curl-up-on-the-couch good, though they’re definitely for adults (or older teens, though I’d recommend you preview them first). My older daughter has aspirations toward veterinary medicine, and I think Walker’s characters will likely appeal to her … but at almost-12, I’m not sure if the nature of these stories (and what I’ve read so far of Keys) is quite appropriate.

Reinhard’s take is spot on: Startling Figures and The Keys of Death are edgy, gritty, realistic, contemporary stories meant for adults and older teen readers. My bad guys are really bad and they do bad things! They say bad words! (Sometimes even the good guys say bad words…). Some situations are intense. Adult relationships are tastefully depicted (nothing explicit) but some parents may prefer that their children be a certain age before reading.

She concludes with this observation:

Walker has taken on suspense/thriller fiction from a Catholic perspective, without watering down the “real” aspect of things.

This is exactly what I was going for in both books. Well done, Sarah, and thanks for your kind assessment!

What this book demonstrates so poignantly is how ineffective the spiritual formation turned out to be for many kids growing up Catholic in the ’50s and ’60s. Parents who depended upon parish catechetics, the Catholic school system and a family life of traditional devotional practices discovered to their dismay that it often wasn’t enough. The sexual revolution hit the post-Vatican II Catholic Church with a broadside for which it was totally unprepared, and the resulting confusion is still negatively impacting the Church today.

Failure to effectively explain the Church’s teachings and explicitly contrast them with the practices of the world, over-emphasis on mere catechesis without leading children to true conversion of heart, and assuming that an unshakable Catholic faith can be absorbed by mere osmosis — these are the things Catholic parents today must avoid if they hope their children’s faith will be strong enough to survive immersion in the messy world outside the cloister of our homes and parishes. [I recommend this book] as a cautionary tale that, by God’s grace, has a happy ending.

Here’s the URL of the review (just in case the link above is broken or goes astray):

Here’s an excerpt from The Keys of Death that sort of explains the photo above:

David Brightman and his wife, Joanna, had made plans for the next day. They were going to Allerton Park in Monticello. It was October. The trees at Allerton would be gorgeous, and if the weather cooperated it was not likely to be cold.

It was an easy half hour drive from Champaign, south on Route 47, to the park’s main entrance. They’d divvy up snacks, water bottles, and a picnic lunch between two backpacks and set off for the formal gardens, where they would wander around and irreverently rename the statues and attractions. Poor, Lethargic Adam, The Garden of the Scary Blue Dogs, and the Not Lost Anymore Because We Found It Garden. There was an immaculately trimmed boxwood hedge feature that looked like it could have been a maze, but David had renamed it Not Really A Proper Maze Because You Can See Over The Top.

When they had amused one another enough, they would pick up the “yellow trail” (it was a yellow line on the park map) take it about a mile past the Creepy Little House in the Big Woods to the Headless Centaur, which wasn’t really headless but looked that way until you got up close, because the sculptor had, for some reason, positioned the centaur’s head at an incredibly acute angle to its shoulder. From there they would follow the “brown trail” for about a mile until it came to their favorite section of the park. It was a large, circular lawn surrounded by trees, with a concrete plinth in the center for the featured statue, a huge figure by Carl Milles called The Sun Singer.David and Joanna had come up with numerous names for it over the years: The Flasher, Look, Ma! No Privates, Bloody Great Immodest Git, Nothing to See Here—and so on.

Want more? The Keys of Death, a veterinary medical thriller, is available at amazon in Kindle and paperback editions, barnes&noble (Nook or paperback), and kobo.

Star Trek and I were born in the same year: 1966. Naturally, I missed the show in its original broadcast run on NBC from that year until it ceased production in 1969, but since the show was so successful in syndication in the 1970s and 80s, I grew up with it. My brothers and I could usually find an episode playing once or twice a week, maybe more, even though back then we could count our TV channels on one hand. For a while there we even had a Star Trek Saturday morning cartoon, and once the movies started coming out I went to all of them—one movie every two or three years from 1979 until 1991.

My appreciation of the show was avid but not excessive. I’d seen all the episodes several times and knew a fair amount of Star Trek trivia, but I wasn’t a Trekkie. I checked out Star Trek books from the library, but never wrote any fan fiction of my own. For some reason I had a Captain Kirk poster in my dorm room at college, but I never went to a Star Trek convention. By the time I finished grad school and embarked upon my adult life of family and work responsibilities, I had drifted away from TV almost entirely. I guess you could say I had “gotten a life.” I had “moved out of my parents’ basement and grown the hell up.”
Then, in 2006, both Star Trek and I turned 40. It occurred to me that my children were growing up in a world where the Starfleet communicator and Uhura’s earpiece had become essential personal accessories, where the sophistication of those little square computer tapes had been exceeded, and where you really could make entries into a notebook-size computer with a stylet pen. Allusions and references to the original series were commonplace.
The children were certainly old enough to enjoy and appreciate Star Trek, so why not? I went down to the library and checked out as many DVDs of the original series as they had available, plus my favorite of the six movies–Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan. And there we sat on mid-winter evenings, bundled on the couch in blankets, munching on popcorn, going where our little family had never gone before.
I suppose if this is the extent of my mid-life crisis—reliving my geeky childhood—I can count myself lucky.

I knew I was onto something when one of my kids, after flipping through the latest stack of library DVDs, said, “We’ve seen all these. Are there any more?” Or when my kids would sit at the kitchen table gnashing their teeth over their homework, muttering to themselves, “Study, study, study! Or bonk bonk, bad kids!” Or when Number One Daughter raises a Vulcan eyebrow and declares, “That is not logical.” Or, worse, when someone sings, “Ah-ah-ah-ah…scrambled eggs” to the tune of Spock’s horrible song in the episode “Plato’s Stepchildren.”
Somehow, despite the dated, bongo-laden opening theme music, the low-tech special effects, and beehive hairdos of the original series, and amid the beeping and squawking of a CGI-savvy, handheld game system-playing bunch of children, the next generation of Star Trek fans was born. I think this is because the artistic and cultural achievement of Star Trek transcends its stylistic appearance and any technological limitations of the show’s production. The stories speak for themselves, they speak universally, and they stand up under scrutiny over time, which I believe are the criteria for a work of imagination to earn the title “classic.”
When I began introducing my children to Star Trek, I was actually reintroducing myself to it. I hadn’t seen an episode of the original series in probably 20 years and hadn’t seen a Star Trek movie since the theatrical release of Star Trek VI in 1991. I had only experienced Star Trek as a child, as a teenager, and as a young adult.
At the age of 40 I came back to Star Trek with freshness, maturity, and a perspective formed by over twenty years as an adult. I saw and took note of things that had eluded me before. I discovered that the stories I had enjoyed so much as a child were even more appealing and entertaining to me now. Star Trek has universal appeal.

Now, in 2016, both Star Trek and I celebrate our 50th birthdays. Star Trek has rebooted and presents a fresh vision of itself. Geek culture has emerged from the basement and become synonymous with pop culture, and people are rediscovering the 80s. Case in point: my brothers and I are now playing Dungeons & Dragons with our offspring and our mom!
So, happy 50th birthday, Star Trek! See what you started?

Remember the pilot episode of ER? The one where Dr. Peter Benton–only a second-year surgery resident, hotshot, brash, against all the regs, but correct in his assessment–takes a guy with an aneurysm to surgery and keeps him alive until a board certified surgeon can get there? Saves his life. The surgeon congratulates him. He goes to the locker room and…

…epic fist pump.

That is me right now. Am 4800 words into the new novel (another veterinary medical thriller). Just read over the last 1500 words–they are fist pump worthy!

When I was writing The Keys of Death, here’s something that really helped me: a playlist.

Why? Because music is emotionally evocative, and when combined with lyrics that told the story of a character’s heart or fit the mood I was trying to convey, the writing went more smoothly and I was able to maintain the emotional through-line of the book. My Keys of Death playlist included:

the classic Andy Williams rendition of “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” (to get me into the yuletide spirit, since the events of the book occur at Christmastime, and it was summer when I did much of the initial draft)

instrumental Irish music (reels and jigs) by Altan, plus “Sunday Bloody Sunday” and “October” by U2 (to make me feel like a rebellious northern Irish youth caught between happy-go-lucky “Irishness” and the anger of The Troubles)

the hymns “You Raise Me Up” and “Be Still My Soul” (to express the spiritual yearning and anguish of the main characters)

Four songs in particular, though, I returned to over and over again, because each one matched up perfectly with one of the characters.

So I thought I’d share: on March 22 I will put all the members of my Reader List into a virtual hat, stir them around (virtually), and draw two lucky winners to receive these four songs from the Keys of Death playlist!! If you’re not already a member, sign up by midnight (CST) on March 22! I’ll notify the two winners by email and then send the songs to your email address via iTunes.

And now a brief aside as I rant about one of my pet peeves: I will give you the songs. I will not “gift” you the songs, because gift is a noun, not a verb. This verbing of nouns, and vice versa, drives me batty. For example: I did not “author” The Keys of Death. I wrote it, and I am its author. If you say a person is “gifted,” are you trying to say that the person possesses rare personal qualities or talents, or that he has just been consigned to a life of indentured servitude? Another example: you may invite me to things, or you may send me an invitation, but please, please, puh-lease don’t send me an “invite.” Or worse, “gift” me an “invite.” Why do people do this? Why do people say, “This assertion I’m trying to make is evidenced by the following facts.” Excuse me: “evidenced?” Since when is evidence a verb? Do you mean that your assertion is “proven by the following facts?” How about this one: “Donald Trump guested The Late Late Late Show.” You mean “Donald Trump served as guest host for The Late Late Late Show?” Or “Donald Trump substituted for the regular host of The Late Late Late Show?” Argh!

If you are okay with this crazed use abuse of the English language, please visit Grammar Girl and get your head right. Sheesh.

Never! Never! NEVER!!!!!! I hate this with the burning intensity of a million white-hot suns. Okay, that was an exaggeration, but only for effect. Note that I said “effect” and not “affect.” Look it up.

Where was I?

Oh, yes. My four favorite songs on the playlist are:

“I’m Alive”Peter Furleralbum: On Fire

“Caught Up”Usheralbum: Confessions

“Good To Be Alive”Jason Grayalbum: A Way to See in the Dark

“What Faith Can Do”Kutlessalbum: It Is Well

As evidence of my generosity, I invite you to join my Reader List by clicking this link and filling out the form. To two lucky winners, I will give a gift of the four songs from the Keys of Death playlist.

Good luck!

When you’re done, come back and leave a comment if you can guess which song applies to which character in The Keys of Death!

Watership Down (1972 by Richard Adams) was my favorite FAVorite FAVORITE childhood book!! I read it when I was in 5th grade. The cover and title confused me: I thought it was going to be a Navy-type book, about a ship sinking or something, and didn’t get why there was a rabbit on the cover. (I didn’t know that a “down” is a hill.)

Nevertheless, I gave it a try and was blown away. That paperback copy literally fell apart from use. I have since owned a few different editions, my current one being a very nice hardcover.

The book is a straight up children’s adventure story — with talking rabbits, yes, but they are real rabbits, not cartoon rabbits. They do rabbity things and think rabbity thoughts. As a child I appreciated it on this level. As an adult, I realized with delight that Adams had also woven fascinating political and social commentary into the story. Not only that, but as a feat of fantasy world-building and culture-creation, this book excels. Absolutely a wonderful book!

All the world will be your enemy, Prince of a Thousand enemies. And when they catch you, they will kill you. But first they must catch you; digger, listener, runner, Prince with the swift warning. Be cunning, and full of tricks, and your people will never be destroyed.

The setting of Watership Down is a real place: Sandleford, near Newbury, in Berkshire. Ironically, as of the date of this news clip (Mar. 2012), it was slated for development. This map of the England pinpoints the location of West Berkshire:

Here’s a short video showing scenes from the real-life locations that inspired the book, including the beech hanger, Nuthanger Farm, and that famous hill, Watership Down. A title card on the video says “Hampshire,” though, even though Sandleford and Newbury are in Berkshire. Richard Adams and illustrator Aldo Galli were featured at the Whitchurch Arts Show in November, 2012.

My brothers and I (all in our 40s) are reliving our geeky childhood by starting to play Dungeons & Dragons again — now with our offspring!

We’re really enjoying the 5th edition of D&D. It has a “back to basics” feel to it, more focused on the broader strokes of gameplay than the minutiae of movement, skirmishes, and what-not.

So, in order to catch up on what I’ve been missing for the almost 30 years that have elapsed since I last attempted a d20 saving throw, I started reading about the various “worlds” in the D&D “multiverse.” Little did I know it, but I started with a great one. I began Homeland, the first “Legend of Drizzt” novel, with a bit of skepticism, scoffing a bit to myself, “A Dungeons & Dragons novel? Really? I’ll give it a try, but if I feel like I’m reading a transcript of a D&D game session, I’ll put it aside.”

I was not just pleasantly surprised — I was really impressed. Salvatore is a good writer: smooth prose style, engaging characters, interesting plot, snappy pacing. This book is also a marvelous feat of world-building.* I was entranced. The culture of the drow elves is truly terrifying and oppressive, and from this dark world a believable hero arises.

Salvatore’s only misstep, in my opinion, is the name of the main character, or rather, the fact that it’s quite unclear how to pronounce his name. If there’s an audio version available, I’d like to hear it; it could be quite a challenge even to a professional voice performer!

This is a good “origin story” for the dark elf Drizzt Do’Urden. I’m looking forward to reading the rest of the series.

*Note: I’m not sure how much of the world is original to Salvatore and how much derives from Ed Greenwood’s “Forgotten Realms” D&D campaign setting, so my praise for the world-building perhaps is as much for Greenwood as for Salvatore. As I said, I’ve only just now picked up D&D after 3 decades away from it, so I’m way behind in the development of the various worlds within the multiverse.